Climate Change in Fiction, Pt 2

The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts

Far in the fresh lap of the crimson rose,

And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown

An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds

Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer,

The childing autumn, angry winter, change

Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world,

By their increase, now knows not which is which:

And this same progeny of evils comes

From our debate, from our dissension;

We are their parents and original.

Titania, from Act II Scene 2, A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare 

So, back in September, I wrote about climate change as it appears in works of fiction. I covered Game of Thrones and Hadestown and their particular iterations of climate change. Since that blog post, I have been to Denver and back in order to attend LeakyCon and present there (read more about it here) and have experienced a few unseasonably hot days in a Los Angeles autumn. In other words, the threat of climate change remains as heavy and omnicidal as ever. 

To wrap up my original September blog posts, here are two more examinations of climate change metaphors in literary, fictional worlds— with elements of science fiction (multiple dimensions) and fantasy (large-scale magic).

His Dark Materials, by Philip Pullman: 

Spoiler alert for The Golden Compass: At the end of the book, Lord Asriel succeeds in his ambition to open a portal directly from his native world to another one. His portal is situated in the Arctic circle, under the aurora borealis; the portal opens onto a place with a Mediterranean climate (strongly implied to be an alternate-universe version of Italy). 

The plot really kicks off then; we’re not sure what Asriel gets up to, but Lyra and her daemon pass through the window and into the land known as Cittagazze. 

Now, we don’t know exactly what the effect is on the Mediterranean climate. But for the Arctic, the consequence is dire. 

Iorek Byrnison, king of the armored bears, notices that there are storms and mists, strange weather patterns. The ice is melting. Byrnison even scouts out the Himalayas, to see if his bear kingdom can live there. That’s how bad it is—prompting animals to move from their ancestral homelands because the weather has grown unlivable. 

I like that Pullman thought this detail through: climate change is an unintended consequence of the plot. Unavoidable, as long as the window stays open, and furthermore destructive. It does fit in with Asriel’s character— put simply, he is so focused on his goal he is willing to destroy plenty of things to get there. 

Spoiler alert for The Amber Spyglass: thanks to angelic intervention, the window is closed and the weather patterns are restored to normal. It’s a little pat, but hey, you’ve got twenty pages left, what are you going to do? Pullman tore a hole in the sky over his world, and then, even though the plot lay elsewhere, he took the time to expound on the consequences of Asriel’s actions. 

Tyme, by Megan Morrison: 

The Tyme books are not as well-known, but they deserve to be VERY well known. So far, there are three books: 

Grounded, the Adventures of Rapunzel

Disenchanted, the Trials of Cinderella

Transformed, the Perils of the Frog Prince

And let me tell you, they are terrific. As you may have guessed, each one is a retold fairytale, though they do tie together. 

So in book one, Jack (the Beanstalker) introduces Rapunzel to this company that is found everywhere in Tyme, called Ubiquitous (great name). Ubiquitous sells acorns.

But not just any acorns! 

These acorns, when cracked against a hard surface, give a shower of sparks and then, presto chango! They provide anything, and we mean anything. Need a tent for a little camping? Ubiquitous! How about some writing implements? Ubiquitous is there! Gosh, we could really do with some sled dogs, just for a few hours. You’ll never guess… Ubiquitous has it! 

Now, see, book one is about the sheltered Rapunzel traveling through the countryside. Having spent the last twelve years in a tower, Rapunzel has everything to learn about how the world works. Ubiquitous is just part of the picture, but nothing to look at too closely. I mean, c’mon, it’s magic.

Book two is about Elegant “Ella” Coach, living in the glamorous capital city of Quintessence, with her eyes open to the exploitation of workers in the blue city’s garment industry. Ella knows how the world works: she wants to change the entire machine. 

This goal is only spurred on when a horrible fire breaks out at a garment factory. What was the cause? Well, there was a worker cracking a “cough syrup” Ubiquitous acorn, creating sparks. An unfortunate accident: what is much worse is that the factory management locked the doors to keep workers from escaping the inferno. Ella focuses on the evils of the one percent; Ubiquitous was simply in the wrong place, wrong time.

Right?

Then in the third book, we see Tyme through the eyes of Syrah, prince of the Olive Isles.  Syrah, like Ella, has been part of the community of Tyme all his life, but like Rapunzel, that life has been sheltered. He takes his privileges, multitudinous as they are, for granted.

After a selfish decision, he’s transformed into a frog, with the cryptic guidance that he must lose himself to find himself. 

Three years pass, and Syrah begins to despair that he’ll ever shake off his froggy form. But then it becomes clear there’s bigger problems in Tyme. A strange plague is spreading through Yellow Country. After a panic over witchcraft, level-headed thinkers trace the sickness to the food source— seeds from Ubiquitous acorns. 

Syrah’s frog’s eye-view of the situation gives him a look at the deeper root of things. The fairies of Yellow Country are sickening. What about those enchanted monsters— Stalkers— that prowl the wilderness? Does this have to do with the machinations of witches? Or the hundred-year sleeping curse laid on the Pink Empire? Or… maybe… maybe those oh-so-handy Ubiquitous acorns may be calling in a higher cost than anyone is prepared to pay. 

Now…

THAT is what I call a climate change analogy! 

It is woven in so subtly you would never suspect it in book one. Magical acorns that give you what you need: how whimsical! What a great way to keep the plot rolling along. 

Then in book two, we see that capitalism is firmly rooted in the Tyme economy. Ubiquitous, seen from this angle, is being used by the one percent as a kind of numbing cream, the short-term glue to keep the ninety-nine percent operating, manufacturing and buying the stuff of capitalism. 

Then in book three, we realize, oh, wait, it’s not just that people misuse Ubiquitous. Maybe these handy magical acorns, promising everything for such a low, low price, maybe there’s something rotten in the very transaction.

It’s a brilliant analogy, worked into the plot in such a way that the question is unavoidable. Ubiquitous is convenient, but at what cost?

I expect that this list will grow as time goes by, as I read more works featuring fictionalized climate change, and as more writers explore the topic. But I think this makes a very good beginning. Stay tuned for further updates. As I finish this blog post, today in Los Angeles it finally feels properly autumnal (it’s early November). I’m currently reading Kushiel’s Dart, by Jacqueline Carey, and enjoyed it very much. In the last couple of weeks, I finished Nicholas Nickleby, by Charles Dickens, and The Mists of Avalon, by MZ Bradley. As long as I don’t think about the future, I am doing really well.